


A Proper Field Agent

by grace_lou_freebush



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Human Trafficking, Smut, Squib trafficking, Undercover as Married, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fic Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:20:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22703080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grace_lou_freebush/pseuds/grace_lou_freebush
Summary: Hermione and Draco go undercover as a married couple on a Valentine's/honeymoon retreat to a Beauty Expo in Las Vegas to take down Marcus Flint and his Squib trafficking ring.Prompt words: Suspense, crescendo, spray paint, Butterfinger
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 34
Kudos: 257
Collections: Strictly Dramione Valentine’s Day Fic Exchange Fest





	A Proper Field Agent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rennaissance_woman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rennaissance_woman/gifts).



> I worked on this down to the last minute, so I apologize for my fic being unbeta'd! Many thanks to Jordan on Dramione Fanfiction Writers for helping with the setting!  
> I wrote for rennaissance_woman, and I hope you like it! I had a blast writing once I finally figured out my plot!  
> Prompt words: Suspense, crescendo, spray paint, Butterfinger

Hermione lugged her heavy luggage behind her as she trailed Malfoy up to the palatial check in counter of the Palazzo Hotel. Her feet ached as she skid on the slick, polished floor, trying not to fall behind. Malfoy’s tall frame allowed him to easily part the crowds while she felt swallowed up by the bustling tourists. She tried valiantly to keep her focus on the back of his platinum head instead of on the tall columns, lush vegetation, sparkling fountain, translucent carvings, Valentine’s day themed decor, and gorgeous domed skylight many metres above.

“Come on, Granger, do keep up.” Malfoy paused for only a brief moment to scold her over his posh shoulder.

Cursing his long legs under her breath with a voracity that was borne of too many years spent with one Ronald Billius Weasley, Hermione redoubled her efforts, finally rounding the decadent Acqua di Cristallo that stood proudly in the centre of the entry. She caught up with her  _ partner _ at the velvet-stanchion lined queue. 

Pretending like she didn’t need to regain a relaxed breathing pattern while Malfoy stood stoically, Hermione gazed at the painted tile mural that made up the backdrop of the front desk. A lovely Italian vista was broken up by large diamond-shaped grouting, two gigantic alcoves for the employees to disappear behind the scenes, and an enormous inset for thematic decorations matching the current holiday. Opulent chandeliers hung grandly above them, keeping the ambiance light and airy.

Hermione had agonized over partnering with Malfoy with every spare moment during the whirlwind of the last seventy-two hours preparing for this operation. Their interactions in the office were hardly what could be called amicable, and this covert assignment relied heavily on their ability to work together. She really hoped they could keep their bickering to a minimum, but something about the two of them in the same room seemed to bring out his ego and her frustration, an explosive cocktail.

When they reached the front desk clerk, Malfoy took the reins on checking their reservation, and Hermione let it go, saving her energy and picking her battles. The ministry employee who had made their arrangements had assigned them to a honeymoon suite with the Prestige VIP upgrade as part of their cover.

After receiving their room keycards, Malfoy turned to Hermione. “Shall we head up to the room straight away and check out the expo after we’ve settled in?”

Too exhausted to argue, Hermione merely nodded emphatically, clutching her duffle bag and preemptively inching toward the lifts. Malfoy matched her pace this go around, to her relief, as they trekked through the casino.

It was just after ten in the morning, local time - later than they'd wanted and anticipated, but the damn MACUSA customs office had held them up for a seeming eternity, so long that Hermione had begun to worry that their doctored passports had been discovered. She was currently running on fumes from spending the whole day packing and settling the last details for this sting operation, as well. She’d snuck in a two hour nap, hoping for one REM cycle to magically rejuvenate her, but had had to be back at the ministry to catch her portkey to the States with Malfoy by six.

She was barely aware of the trip on the lift and short walk to their room, her mind dazing into an unfocused fog. As she and Malfoy stopped in front of their room, she sharpened enough to realize her partner had already retrieved the keycard and pressed it against the panel above the door handle before she could explain the Muggle security. The lock clicked open, and they retreated inside the sanctuary of their room with haste.

Hermione made a beeline through the entry hallway for the bed to dispose of her heavy luggage, but Malfoy had his wand out and stalked through the sprawling suite, twirling it deliberately and murmuring to himself. Kicking off her low heels, Hermione paid him little mind as she tore open her suitcase in search of her toiletry kit. Finding it, she rummaged through the satchel until she withdrew a potion vial. With little flourish, she unstoppered it and knocked back a single mouthful.

The tart liquid seemed to run straight through her veins, sharpening her focus and reawakening her mind. Immediately, her posture straightened, and her concentration honed.

“What are you doing?” Hermione enquired as Malfoy traipsed past her to the closet, his wand once again held loose at his side.

He answered her over his shoulder as he hung his suit bag up next to a pair of complementary dressing gowns. “Assuring that our rooms are secure.”

"You think someone tampered with our room? I was careful; Flint has no idea we're here."

"It pays to be cautious, Granger. It's one of the first things drilled into us during Academy training." His matter of fact tone simmered to a frustrated mutter Hermione was sure she wasn't meant to hear, "Which you'd know if you were a proper field agent."

She  _ knew _ this wasn't directed at her but, rather, Harry who had been the one to sign her off as Malfoy's partner for this assignment, but the sentiment still stung. Wide awake now and rearing for a fight after the frustrating evening-turned-morning and acknowledgment of a long day ahead of them, Hermione widened her stance and firmly planted her fists on her hips.

"I'm perfectly qualified for this operation, thank you. Need I remind you that  _ I  _ am the one who tracked down Flint as the ringleader to this Squib trafficking agency  _ and _ the location of the conference he's working out of?"

"Yes, yes," he rolled his eyes and continued to patronize her, "you're competent at analysis and investigation from the comfort of your dingy little office,” he went from sarcastic to venomous at the drop of a pin, “ _ and _ you're going to be a liability out here."

"This is  _ Muggle _ Las Vegas, Malfoy!"

"I am aware, Granger, I read your bloody report and took the same fucking Portkeys as you. And I don't need help navigating Muggle America, thanks for that insinuation. Honestly, Weasley would have been preferable." The insult was as blatant as his sneer.

Hermione huffed. "Ron is acting as protective custody for Svetla and her younger sister Anna. You know they bonded, and she chose him to stay with her," a hard edge entered her voice before she could stamp it out.

Unfortunately, Malfoy capitalized on her shortcoming. "Is that a case of sour grapes? You wouldn't be  _ jealous _ would you?" He snickered darkly, eyes flashing like a lightning storm in rolling clouds.

Snorting and pulling her arms from her hips to cross over her chest, Hermione responded, " _ No _ . Ronald is perfectly able to do as he pleases. I'm more concerned about Svetla. She's been through so much in the past several months, and she doesn't need Ron's bumbling through her complex emotions like a troll in a china shop."

A chuckle softened Malfoy's angular features. "Never thought I'd be the one to say this, but cut the bloke a little slack. He's actually pretty good with civilians - puts them at ease effortlessly - besides he gets to play Hero with Svetla and her little sister, and he lives for that shite."

"Yes, well-" it was like an out of body experience to verbally agree with the wizard, "-I just hope he takes it slow with her. It will probably take her a long time to learn to trust others again."

She worried her lip, thinking of the sweet woman. 

Svetla was twenty-one years old and had become the sole provider for her nine-year-old sister after their parents passed away unexpectedly. As a Squib, she had had difficulty procuring work in the wizarding world. Despite this, she'd wanted to stay close to the magical community since Anna showed many strong signs of magic. The gorgeous, displaced Bulgarian had a passion for make-up and was quite skilled styling hair and so had been enticed into applying to a fairly new magical cosmetology school.

Bobbin Institute of Beauty boasted hundreds of graduates in its three years as a qualified cosmetology program with a high percentage rate of successful graduates, including Squibs. In addition, Svetla could enroll in night classes and work a Muggle job during the day to make ends meet.

Months away from graduating, one of her instructors had approached her about the opportunity to go to a prestigious beauty expo in the States, all expenses paid as part of her tuition.

She'd been all set and eager to go when Anna contracted Spattergroit weeks before the trip was scheduled to happen. Distraught, she'd confessed to her instructor that she'd need to drop out of the trip, only to be Stunned, bound, and kidnapped by her trusted advisor.

Svetla was understandably tight lipped about the several days she'd been captive and the exact means of her escape. Hermione hadn't minded nor pressed for more as the information Svetla had not hesitated to bring forth and share with the Aurors had been enough for the Auror Intelligence Department that Hermione worked in to piece together the elusive Squib trafficking ring that had been plaguing London for the past three years.

Malfoy grunted an assent, bringing Hermione back to the moment.

"Right, well, let me put my things away and freshen up before we head down to the expo." With a swish of her wand, her clothes sailed out of her baggage into the empty drawers and partially filled closet. She chucked her duffle into the corner and took her toiletry and make-up kits into the loo.

The bathroom was exquisite: Italian black-marble with his and her sinks beneath a mirror that stretched the whole wall, an enormous soaker tub, a walk-in shower with a nozzle high enough that even Malfoy wouldn’t need to duck, a water closet complete with a locking door, and a vanity set up specifically for women to apply their make-up. Hermione took a moment to examine the professional vanity lights and appreciate the high end art deco fixtures before settling on the plush stool to transform her face.

She applied the foundation, highlighter, contour, and eyeliner in the way Svetla had taught her to subtly alter her features so she wouldn't be immediately recognizable. The warm, tawny base that the beautician had mixed for her matched her terra cotta complexion flawlessly, a feat as Hermione had always had difficulty matching tones. She often found she ended up washed out or too orange.

Satisfied with her end result, she pulled half of her hair back to keep the rambunctious curls out of her face. 

Exiting the loo, she encountered an irate Malfoy, stalking a path back and forth across the room.

"Took long enough, didn't you?" He ground out, shoving past her and slamming the French doors the moment she crossed the threshold.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione muttered to herself, "So dramatic."

While left to her own devices for the time being, she finally took a good look around their quarters for the next few days. The king bed stood proudly as the main focal point of the room, white, Anichini linens tucked pristinely into the sides and more pillows than she could conceive as necessary stacked on top. The headboard reached the ten-foot ceiling, made up of large, padded squares wrapped in russet brown satin and affixed to the cream wall. Can lights above shown down on the bed, providing ample lighting for reading at night and making the satin shimmer with golden highlights. A teal, velvet chaise sat at the foot of the bed, and twin bedside tables with modern lamps stood on either side of gathered curtains at the head.

Hermione’s toes sank into the soft, ocher carpet, and her feet followed the interlocking circle motif across the room, past the long chest of drawers and flatscreen television. A low counter of matching marble and a set of steps divided a sunken sitting area from the bedroom. 

Climbing down the two steps, Hermione inspected the other half of their suite. To her right, an L-shaped sectional bordered the counter and wall, facing a flatscreen television and minibar to her left. A spartan work desk ran perpendicular to the taupe sofa; its chair sat with the back facing the window and drapes that encompassed the entire back wall. A round table stained the same dark, coffee-brown as the other furnishings and large enough for three short, wingback chairs to surround it took up the last corner of the space. Fine mirrors and expensive art prints encased in intricate gold frames dotted the walls regally yet unobtrusively.

Finding a control panel by the stairs, Hermione remotely opened the curtains. Two black-out curtains made of heavy, brown material that complemented the earth tones in the suite parted steadily while a gauzy Roman shade lifted to the ceiling. A breath caught in Hermione’s throat at the view.

They were several - maybe a dozen - storeys up, and their room overlooked the Strip. Still before noon, the city and mountains in the distance were lit up with the desert sun, rather than the neons and flashing lights that Las Vegas was so known for. Several aquamarine pools glimmered below, gigantic palm trees shading the sprawling, concrete walkways and giving the whole view an air of oasis.

Unfortunately, Hermione’s tranquil moment was promptly destroyed by the low drawl of Malfoy.

“Is that what you’re wearing? Put on some shoes and let’s go; we’ve wasted enough time already.”

Rolling her eyes at the landscape, Hermione turned around to do as he said. He wasn’t  _ wrong _ about them needing to get going, though it wasn’t strictly her fault that they were behind schedule, as he seemed to imply. She looked up to the top of the steps where Malfoy stood in the pathway. He caught her gaze and a quizzical furrow of his eyebrows froze on his countenance.

“There’s something different about you,” he said.

“Yes, I’ve done my make-up in case Flint remembers what I looked like back at Hogwarts. Where’s your disguise?”

His distinguishing platinum hair was combed neatly, and his signature pointed features looked the same as ever. He had dressed in a smart, three-piece suit that was tailored in all the right places: sharp shoulders, lean waist, and straight trousers. Maybe she could convince him to wear glasses or glamour a mole on his perfectly chiseled cheekbones.

“I’m not using one.” This shocked her out of her ogling, flabbergasted. Wasn’t a disguise an integral part of undercover work?

“What if Flint recognizes you and goes underground?” she protested.

“If Flint recognizes me, then he will assume what everyone else does: a rich, handsome bloke taking his wife on a lavish Valentine’s romantic getaway. You’ve assured me that he has no idea that we’re investigating him. I know the cocky bastard, and he’s not paranoid enough to figure the worst and quit while he’s ahead just because an old schoolmate happens to show up at the same popular locale.”

Hermione’s mouth gaped for a long moment. She’d conveniently forgotten that part of their cover story was as a married couple on holiday, and his flippant reminder flummoxed her. “Fine.” She swallowed. “If you’re comfortable with it, then I guess we’ll just have to go with it.”

Her stomping feet belied her calm, and she shouldered past her partner - husband - to slip her heels back on. She Summoned the conference badge from her discarded luggage, snapped up her purse, and waited for Malfoy at the door.

A full length mirror reflected her image back at her: patent leather heels poking out of fitted - but nowhere near tailored - black slacks and a dark periwinkle blouse; her corkscrew hair was partially restrained, and she hardly recognized her face peering back at her. Before she could fret too much about the woman in the mirror, Malfoy approached.

He grabbed her left wrist as she reached for the door handle. A warm shock raced up her arm and down her spine to pool in her gut. Before Hermione could respond, he slipped a surprisingly elegant wedding ring set onto the appropriate finger. Then he released her without a word, and they were on their way to the lift.

“The expo will be casual, so we can probably get away without any intimate touching,” Malfoy spoke lowly as they padded down the hallway towards the lifts. “We can discuss later what our next steps will be and the level of intimacy you can handle.”

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, not appreciating his tone, but the lift doors opened, and they were no longer alone, sharing the compartment with a group of three young women also sporting the badges required to enter the beauty convention.

* * *

The expo was crowded and sprawling.

Booths set up scant feet apart contained men and women jockeying for attendees’ attention, calling out over the din, flapping brochures, and offering freebies. The walkway was a maze, requiring Malfoy and Hermione to squeeze past clumps of people gathering around the various vendors.

They kept their eyes peeled for either Marcus Flint or Elisabeth Pierre, Svetla’s former professor, but with the rapidly growing number of guests, Hermione realized their chances of glimpsing either of their targets was dwindling.

“Perhaps we should check the presentation room,” Malfoy suggested, clearly thinking along the same lines as Hermione. “I doubt he has any need for any of this clamour. He’s far more likely to listen to a pitch to further the legitimate side of his business.”

“Yes, I agree. I think the presentations are being held over there.” She pointed across the spacious room. “I remember hearing applause while we were by the nail care booths.”

Picking their way carefully across the exhibit hall, they found the presentation entrance just as one of the hosts announced a break for lunch. The witch and wizard followed the exodus to a third room set up with dozens of tablecloth-clad tables and metal-framed chairs. A catered buffet line filled promptly with hungry patrons. Hermione filed in with the masses, Malfoy carefully lingering at her elbow.

They devoured their hot meal quickly, intent on patrolling the room for their quarry. Malfoy had impeccable table manners despite their hurry. 

Hermione and her partner made minor small talk with random guests with the hopes of determining if anyone had seen or met their intended targets. 

When the hour was over, they filtered back to the booth room. Hermione picked up a samples bag and periodically scooped up pairs of free palates, brushes, polishes, shampoos. A few of the vendors had bowls of American sweets for the taking: little, individually wrapped Ghiradelli chocolate squares, sugar hearts in cardboard boxes, and red, pink, or yellow foil-wrapped hearts that were labeled Butterfinger, which piqued Hermione’s curiosity more than desire. She’d noticed that she and Malfoy stood out while empty handed and decided she might as well capitalize on all the free gear. Some of those lipsticks cost twenty pounds! She took two of everything, thinking of Svetla back home, missing the coveted convention.

By the end of the day, they’d made little headway (unless Hermione’s trove of treasures counted - in which case she’d caught the snitch!). Hermione had hoped to have enough time for a cat nap before getting ready for the high brow portion of their evening but had acquiesced when Malfoy demanded a chance to walk the layout of the resort. If a chase occurred, he wanted to know the shortcuts, nooks, and crannies of the expansive property, things they couldn't glean from a campus map, and she'd concurred with the logic.

From the expo, they trekked back to the Waterfall Atrium where the escalators to the upper level and shoppes were located. They passed droves of vacationers and tourists huddled around a man set up creating spray paint art. He had a rug stained a myriad of colours laid down with a stack of blank canvases and a dozen aerosol cans of paint spread out neatly. An array of round lids, cardstock, newspaper, and scrapers were contained haphazardly in a bin next to his current work. 

At the other end of the atrium, a giant art installation stood proudly for guests to take pictures and selfies in front of; perfect for lovers on Valentine's Day, giant, red block-letters spelled LOVE in front of the magnificent, twenty foot tall waterfall and garden arrangement. They bypassed it all swiftly, heading directly to the rising escalator.

Pretending to window shop, Hermione and Malfoy meandered through the various shoppes. They had to enhance the married act a bit here, playing at honeymooners enjoying the finer things Las Vegas had to offer. Malfoy led her through doorways and along the corridor with a hand resting heatedly at her lower back. They called each other "dear" and "darling" and "love." Occasionally their eyes would meet when a store associate hovered too closely or attempted to recommend or sell some grossly expensive item to the pair, Malfoy's smirk teasing about his lips bewitchingly. Hermione hoped her make-up successfully concealed her rising blush.

Once or twice he feigned interest in a sale, asking obtuse questions and putting on an exaggerated air of superiority that simultaneously reminded Hermione of his father and made her smother a giggle at the caricature. When she scolded him for harassing a poor, young sales clerk in a beautiful rare books store that reminded her of Flourish and Blotts, the rogue glint in his grey eyes made her knickers soak.

Exhausted, she and Malfoy finally headed back to their room to regroup and prepare for dinner.

Hermione claimed the loo to change out of her work attire into something better suited for the high class evening they were expecting to have. Between Svetla's original itinerary and Malfoy's memory of Flint, Hermione had figured the activities and venues the trafficker would most likely take advantage of.

They would dine at Lavo, the upscale Italian restaurant located in the entrance to the Palazzo before heading into the casino. Malfoy reckoned Flint would pick up a girl from Lavo's upstairs dance floor, wine and dine her lavishly, and entice her to be his Lady Luck at the poker tables, of which he was a bit of a gambling addict.

Hermione emerged from the bathroom in a rose-red dress. It was shorter than she typically preferred, and she had Ginny to thank for trying it on in the first place. The flouncy skirt and loose, three-quarter sleeves kept it classy, despite that fact that she couldn't bend over without flashing her knickers. She'd really fallen in love with the soft, suede material and the way it caressed her curves. It was sexy enough for a night in Las Vegas, yet she still felt comfortable in her skin. 

To her disconcertion, she found herself hoping Malfoy approved.

She spotted him tying a new tie over a fresh, button down shirt, facing one of the mirrors next to the bed. His waistcoat hung from his shoulders, unbuttoned, and his suit coat was draped over the back of the chaise. When she moved further into the room, Malfoy met her eyes through the mirror for a brief moment. His sharp gaze dropped before coming back up to collide with hers again. Something in the predatory expression reflected back at her made Hermione shiver pleasantly.

"Didn't you wear that dress to the Ministry Christmas Gala two years ago?"

The fluttering in her stomach promptly fell away, and a scowl took up residence of her countenance.

"I happen to like this dress, and, as no one here was at the Ministry Gala, except you, I didn't think it would be remiss to get another use out of it. Besides, I'm sure  _ you _ didn't purchase multiple new suits for this assignment."

Hermione watched the corner of his mouth twitch and his eyes rove once again.

"I'm certainly not complaining, love. Just asking a question," he assured her, silkily. Her knickers dampened, and Hermione worried what state they would be in by the end of the evening.

To busy herself, she rummaged through her toiletry kit until she found a specific potion vial. She quickly swallowed a mouthful of the tart liquid before offering it to her partner.

"Would you like some Wideye Potion? I brought a couple bottles as I anticipate we won't be getting much sleep."

When Malfoy turned to face her, his eyes were sharp and dark, a venomous smirk slithered up his mouth, his double Windsor knot sat perfectly at his throat, and his fitted waistcoat accentuated his strong shoulders and slim build.

"Is that so?" A single brow lifted, and he held eye contact while he placed the open vial against his lips and tilted his head back to take his drink. Hermione's gaze locked onto his extended neck, and she watched his Adam's apple bob with his swallow.

Her mouth ran dry. Her nipples peaked sensitively against her bra. Her tongue dashed out to wet her ruby lips. Her thighs clenched. Her heart beat a cadence in her chest that sang to her of trouble. All this in a matter of seconds before he finished his gulp.

"We should head down to dinner," she croaked as her hand took the bottle back from the  _ very _ attractive wizard. "We wouldn't want to miss our reservation."

Malfoy's wits seemed to return to him then because he transitioned smoothly from intent predator to matter-of-fact Auror.

"Of course. We still have a job to do."

* * *

Their dinner at Lavo was a conglomeration of decadent, delicious, and distracting. The restaurant was dim with romantic mood lighting and resplendent decorations. The maitre d' sat Hermione and Malfoy across from each other at a table near the centre of the room, and between bites of their salads and entrees, they scrutinized the other guests, searching for Flint or Pierre.

As the evening progressed and the table reservations filled, though, they relaxed into their roles. Malfoy ordered a bottle of wine at the waiter's recommendation, and the alcohol assisted them in their assuagement.

Conversation flowed steadily like the water features along the walls, and by Hermione's second glass, a flirty lilt entered her voice.

Their waiter must have noted the sexual tension that rose as their inhibitions lowered and the glittering rock crowning Hermione's ring finger as she waved her hand when she spoke to him.

“Ah, still newly weds?”

“Yes," Hermione claimed.

But Malfoy said "no" at the same moment.

Kicking him under the table and fixing him with a hard glare, she ground out, “Draco, three months is still considered ‘newly wed.’ Honestly.” To the waiter, she smiled sweetly. “We bicker like we’ve been married for thirty years, though.”

“What can I say, the fire in her eyes when I get her riled is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” She looked back at him to find him staring earnestly at her. The waiter politely excused himself, though she failed to notice for several minutes.

"Usually this is the part where I ask for the bill and take you to bed, but we still have to catch Flint before he sells those Squibs."

By this point, Hermione's knickers were ruined and she was severely tempted to say  _ fuck our responsibilities and fuck me instead _ . Luckily (or maybe unfortunately, depending on the point of view), she wasn't  _ that _ sloshed, and she, too, was able to keep her priorities in order.

"Right. Shall we try the casino, then?"

He nodded as he paid the bill then escorted her to the Palazzo's casino.

They made a quick stop to exchange cash for chips before meandering through the slot machines and poker tables, keeping their eyes peeled.

They stopped in at a few games, blithely asking dealers and cocktail waitresses if they'd seen anyone of Flint's description as they'd "gotten separated on the Strip and their mobiles had died." 

Malfoy sat a couple rounds of three-card poker and doubled his earnings. Hermione was good enough at black jack that she threw a couple low bet rounds to avoid being caught counting cards. At the craps table, Malfoy held the dice out towards Hermione to blow for luck. She took his wrist in her hands, brought it up to her chin, and locked onto his steel-grey eyes as she hollowed her cheeks and exhaled breathily on the dice. She watched his clenched jaw jump. The room was dark, but she could have swore a blush crept up his neck as well.

At the bar in the middle of the room, Malfoy held her back flush against his chest with a possessive hand curled around her hip. He took his Scotch after handing her a glass of chilled white wine. Passing the bartender a sizable tip, he enquired about their lost "friend" again.

The man deserved a raise for recalling a customer an hour and a half previously that fit their description. The woman dangling off his arm had called him "Marcus," and suddenly Malfoy and Hermione had their first lead of the trip.

Following the direction the bartender had pointed, they found Flint at one of the three-card poker tables talking to a middle-aged man. A young woman with a strapless minidress draped herself over Flint's arm; she had a dazed expression that gave Hermione the uncomfortable impression of either a Confundus or Imperius. 

She and Malfoy picked an adjacent table for her partner to be dealt into, and Hermione stood close enough to the men to eavesdrop with her back to them.

Ignoring the simpering woman, Hermione tuned in to the men's conversation while pantomiming a doting wife lending her support for her husband's hand. Trailing her fingers absentmindedly through the short, fine hairs at the base of Malfoy's head, she pulled her own locks over one shoulder to better hear the business talk occurring behind her.

She caught the new man's name - Jefferson - and a discussion on the type of  _ employees _ he required for his massage business. Flint offered to let him conduct a few  _ interviews _ with some of the  _ students _ he had brought along. Much of the conversation appeared benign to a casual observer, but Hermione caught the subtext and equivocal meanings to their words easily.

An announcement of a straight flush, a polite round of applause, and a deceitfully humble "thank you" from Flint cut into the conversation.

"Fuck, that's the last of my chips," Jefferson bemoaned. He teased Flint, "If you steal all my money tonight, I won't have any tomorrow for your girls!" 

They both chuckled.

"Perhaps you should call it a night, then, yes?"

"Yes, yes, perhaps I should. I take my breakfast in the Prestige Lounge at seven; should I wait for you there for the, uh,  _ interviews _ ?"

The distinctive shuffling of a chair scooting away from a table met Hermione's ears as Flint responded. "I'll leave a message for you with the receptionist in the morning."

The men said their goodbyes as Malfoy revealed his cards to the dealer - three of a kind, Kings.

Hermione leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "Flint and his  _ associate _ are leaving. Should we follow to see where he goes?"

Malfoy turned his head to reply, but it brought them nose to nose, lips scant centimetres from touching. When she inhaled, she could smell the yeasty scone aroma with a distinct note of peat of Malfoy's top-shelf Scotch. They both paused, staring into each other's eyes. Then Hermione's gaze lowered to his mouth and her body swayed forward of its own volition.

The dealer asked for Malfoy's ante, pulling them from their reverie. Hermione rocked back, just outside of Malfoy's personal space, but his arm snaked around to catch her thigh before she could go too far. His hand on her bare thigh had her freezing in place, a part of her in the back of her mind begging for his hand to slip higher, to continue the caress, to slither under the skirt of her short, short dress.

Throwing his requisite chip into the pot, Malfoy murmured, "We'll let them go for now, catch them first thing in the morning, when we're both sober and focused."

A tingle shivered down her spine, and her skin heated tantalizingly. Hermione shifted her weight, rubbing her thighs together in search of the friction she craved.

With two twos and a six in his hand, Malfoy folded quickly. He gathered his pile of chips and stood, humming, "Let's get out of here," in a raspy voice.

Picking their way through the tables to cash in their chips, Hermione spotted Flint and his victim ordering drinks at the bar.

"I wish there was something we could do." Hermione sighed.

"We can't sacrifice our operation over one girl."

Despite his stern comment, Hermione saw the woman in question stumble over a piece of rubbish awkwardly. Her stiletto caught on the carpet, and her ankle rolled, surprisingly clumsy for one who was clearly comfortable in pumps. Crying in pain, she fell to the floor, clutching her injury. Several people nearby rushed to her aid, but Flint disappeared in a blink. The unnamed woman was saved, one less victim that Flint could claim.

Hermione turned to peer at Malfoy's face; it was carefully blank as he guided her away, a hand enticingly set at the small of her back. Lust suddenly burst into life, beginning in her chest and flowing swiftly through her veins to her extremities.

They reached the lifts, and while they waited for one to arrive, Hermione turned in Malfoy's arm, tipping her head back to face his mercurial eyes.

"Draco," she breathed into the miniscule space between them.

Before she could say more, his lips descended upon hers. He devoured her mouth like a man starved, clutching her to his body with a hand at that spot on her back which was quickly becoming an erogenous zone and the other gripping her neck beneath her nest of hair.

The lift opened with a ding, and Malfoy backed Hermione carefully into the compartment. Fishing for the keycard in his pocket, he blindly stuffed it into the slot beneath the floor buttons and pressed the number for their storey.

To Hermione's relief, it was a fast ride, and before she knew it, she was pressed up against the wall beside their suite door, her body pleasantly flattened between the hard plaster and Malfoy's firm torso.

Her hands gripped at his shoulders, crinkling the expensive fabric of his jacket. Anchored securely, she confidently lifted one leg without fear of falling, opening herself to his body and hooking her knee at his hip. Her skirt puddled in the crook of her pelvis, and the wool of Malfoy's jacket and trousers rasped the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh wondrously.

Malfoy groaned throatily, tearing his lips from Hermione's to trail open-mouthed kisses along her jaw to her throat. Her own moan chased his, and she tilted her head to the side, giving him more access. A needy pressure built in her core, and she rocked her hips forward, searching for release.

Her snatch bumped his hard erection, eliciting a sharp gasp from the wizard. His fingers gripped her hips forcefully before directing their lower bodies away from each other, creating some space. 

She whined in complaint at the loss, but he merely swiped their keycard and opened the door, pulling Hermione in after him forcefully. She would have stumbled if he hadn't been there to catch her in anticipation.

The manhandling made her feel secure. The gentle grip he used made her feel cherished. The fiery look in his gaze made her feel salacious. And his jagged plea whispered against her ear made her feel desired.

" _ Please. _ "

" _ Draco _ ," she implored, "Yes."

Reattaching his lips to her throat, Draco wasted no time in finding the zipper to her dress and sliding it down. Coaxing the garment down her body, he let his fingers graze her skin along the way. When she stepped out of the red pool of fabric on the floor, he herded her to the bed.

His jacket fell to the ground with a whisper, and his trousers followed. Hermione yanked on his tie while Draco worked on the buttons of his waistcoat. After those were tossed aside, they worked together to divest him of his shirt.

Hermione snuck her hand down the front of his pants and was the first to intimately touch the other. She grasped his hot, silky, steel length and gave a firm tug.

"Fuck, woman," Draco growled.

In retaliation, he pinched one of her nipples through her bra. She whimpered and leaned into him, capturing his lips with hers for another searing kiss.

At some point, Hermione realized she was horizontal on the bed. Consumed by his kiss, she lost herself to the sensation and forgot silly things like time and place.

Draco’s questing fingers crept inside her bra and past the elastic of her knickers. The twin caresses had her moaning and thrusting her hips in time with his rubs, flicks, and circles.

One digit pressed its way into her needy, soaking channel, and Draco’s head fell to her shoulder while his left hand squeezed her breast. He groaned so deeply she could feel his chest rumble against hers.

The finger withdrew; then two slammed back into her sheath, causing her to gasp and jerk, completely at his mercy.

Draco worked her for an indeterminable amount of time: minutes, hours, they meant nothing to Hermione’s lust-fried brain as she searched for that indescribable release.

Just as she felt herself begin to crest that precipice, he pulled out. Her body cried out at the void, the anticlimax distressing in its lack of sensation.

Her knickers were ripped away and her bra unlatched in record time, and Draco’s body covered hers again. Lining himself up with her centre, he pushed in.

Her body stretched and opened for him as he slowly bottomed out, seated fully inside her. They both paused to appreciate the all encompassing feeling of their coupling.

Hermione's walls began to pulse with the need for movement, friction.

"Draco, please. Move," she moaned.

With a ragged inhale, he pulled out and thrust back in so hard it forced the air out of Hermione's lungs. After a few pumps, he found a rhythm they both liked.

Hermione tilted her pelvis, changing the angle and inviting him deeper. She wrapped her legs around his waist and hooked her feet together to hold him in place, grinding herself against his body in time with his movements. As Draco inched in and out of her core, she felt her muscles tense in anticipation.

Her womb wound tighter and higher, like a symphony building its crescendo to an epic climax. Just as she began to worry that the end, the release, would never come and she'd be stuck in this needy ascension forever, she tumbled over the precipice with a shout.

She was still coming down from the mind blowing orgasm when Draco lifted her up and slammed her back into the headboard.

The cushion squares softened the blow, but she was once again wedged between a sturdy wall and Draco's hard body. Her sensitive nipples brushed against his chest, and one of his arms bracketed her head on the satin headboard, closing her in with him surrounding her.

Realigning his cock with her cunt, he lowered her down onto his rigid member until her ass settled on his lap.

Adjusting his stance on his knees, Draco thrust up while gravity pulled her down. The opposing forces rammed his dick deep into her centre so hard it almost hurt.

Hermione cried out, flinging her head back in ecstasy. One of Draco's hands had wrapped around her hip, but he moved it between them to press against her clit. His head lowered to her breast, and he sucked a nipple into his hot, wet mouth, teasing it into a hard, erect pebble before nipping down on it gently.

She writhed, stuck no matter how she wriggled, and it was just so  _ much _ . She hadn't ever had multiple orgasms, and she was getting overwhelmed by all the sensations bombarding her.

"Draco, I can't. I can't."

He didn't halt his pace, though, despite her protests.

"You're okay. I've got you. Yes you can," he assured her, walking his mouth up her shoulder and neck to kiss her deeply again.

He pounded into her over and over and over, twirling his finger around the bud of her clit with every thrust.

Hermione's toes curled and her nails bit into Draco's back as she was lifted higher and higher. Her thighs began to shake, and her cunt gripped at his cock every time he pulled out. 

The roughness of his thrusts became a necessity for her survival. She thought she might go mad if he stopped now.

His name was a mantra on her tongue with every drive in, and she begged for  _ more, more, more. _

Suddenly the tight string holding her together snapped. Her body slumped, every muscle relaxing into total euphoria. As her mind dissolved into a state of bliss, she felt the rhythmical pulsing of her vaginal walls around Draco's firm erection. They beat at the same pace as at her heart, she vaguely noticed.

Her head lolled forward, and Draco caught her mouth with his in a frantic kiss. After several quick thrusts he, too, stilled, deep inside her. 

He leaned into her, and Hermione got the impression that the wall at her back was the only thing holding the pair of them up.

Gently pulling away from her after several minutes, Draco kissed Hermione sweetly on her bruised lips and then on her sweat-slick temple.

"I hope you don't mind sharing the bed," he weakly joked as they uncoupled.

Pulling back the sheets, he tucked her in. Slipping in next to her and tucking her into his side, they both drifted to sleep.

* * *

Hermione woke to discover Draco already up. He was propped on one side, observing her in her sleep and twirling one ringlet between his nimble fingers. When he noticed that she was awake, a hopeful yet determined look settled in his eyes.

"That… was not just a one-off for me," he confessed. "I've been wanting this for a long time, and now I've had you, I'm not giving you up once this is over."

Hermione stared into his imploring, silver eyes, reading the sincerity and desire written plainly there.

"Okay. Once we apprehend Flint and make it back to England, we can give us a go." The decision came much easier than she thought it would, but she didn't regret the promise.

Joy and relief flooded Draco's features, and the levity was contagious, enticing a grin onto her own mouth. Catching sight of the clock on the side table, Hermione's mood plummeted back to reality.

"It's half 'til seven. We don't want to miss our only lead to catching Flint."

Draco sighed in agreement, folding back the covers and stepping out of bed.

“I’ll take a quick shower so you have time in the loo,” he promised, strolling, nude, out of the room. Hermione’s eyes trailed his pert bum until he disappeared around the corner of the entrance hall. 

Rushing to catch up to him, she called out, “No need for separate showers; saving water and time and all!”

A rumbling chuckle echoed out the doorway. “How quickly do you think I can get you off? Or, rather, how many before we have to leave?”

* * *

They entered the Prestige VIP Lounge at seven after seven. Taking a quick survey of the room, Hermione easily found Flint’s associate at a table buttering a waffle.

After their slight pause to look around, Hermione and Draco rambled to the breakfast bar where a slew of options were laid out for their choosing. Hermione fixed a bowl of oatmeal with some brown sugar and placed a sausage patty and a scoop of fresh fruit salad on a small plate. Her partner grabbed a yoghurt, a muffin, and several strips of bacon. They each fixed mugs of tea and picked a table beside Jefferson’s.

Speaking slightly louder than necessary, Draco began a conversation with Hermione about one of the keynote speakers’ addresses from the expo the day before. He made the exchange sound as though he were asking for her thoughts on the matter in regards to a salon that he owned, but she played along anyway, arguing good-naturedly with his obnoxious opinions.

They must have captured their neighbor’s attention as the man interjected himself politely into their discussion. He asked if he could join them while he finished his coffee, to which Draco flashed a grin and gestured to the seat to his left - across the table from Hermione.

The men clasped hands firmly while John Jefferson introduced himself.

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy," the wizard intoned silkily. Hermione would have snorted if her stomach hadn't clenched deliciously and her blood hadn't run so hot she was concerned her exposed skin had flushed. "And my wife, Hermione." His piercing quicksilver eyes speared her to her groin, and she had to physically wrench her gaze away to greet their companion. Godric, she’d just had two orgasms not an hour before! 

_ Focus _ , she told herself as Jefferson took her hand.

The little group spent about half an hour in civil, polite conversation before Jefferson made his excuses, said goodbye, and rose to leave. Draco and Hermione bid him a good day and watched him amble away.

“We need to follow him,” Hermione urged, getting to her feet. “Do you think we could manage to avoid detection with Disillusionment charms?”

“I reckon that’s our only option. Come on, if we don’t catch him before his lift arrives, we’re fucked.” A sly glimmer shone in his eye, and Draco continued cheekily, “I do hope you can walk faster today than you did yesterday.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped in indignation, but she bit back her protest when Draco darted for the door.

Once outside the Lounge, the witch and wizard tapped their heads with their wands, feeling the cool wash of the charm flow down their bodies. They dashed down the hall as quietly as they could and slipped into the lift just as the doors began to shut.

Holding her breath, Hermione leaned into Draco’s side, trying to take up as little space as possible in the corner. The suspense and anticipation built as the lift rose to the top level, coiling and wringing about in her chest until her heart felt big enough to burst out of her body. She tried not to fidget as the Disillusionment worked best when holding still, but the anxiety was near overwhelming.

Perhaps sensing her agitation, Draco slowly bent over her, his lips resting against her crown soothingly, offering her his peace and support. Hermione took a silent, calming breath and steadied herself. Just in time, as the lift opened on the floor that held the Presidential Suites.

Draco and Hermione crept out after Jefferson and snuck behind him as he walked down the corridor to the last room on the right, a corner suite, of course.

As soon as Jefferson knocked a specific beat on the door, Draco hit him with a nonverbal Stunner. He caught the man’s limp body as he slumped, laying him to the side of the room where he wouldn’t be visible from the peep-hole. Ropes materialized from a central point mid-air; Draco’s wand must have been held aloft there.

While Draco was still occupied with securing their first prisoner, the door opened, and a woman who must have been Elisabeth Pierre stuck her head into the hallway. Taking aim (which was more difficult than Hermione expected, escentially blind), Hermione Silenced, Stunned, and Disarmed the woman within a moment.

Draco appeared beside Hermione, startling her. Ignoring her jump, he Levitated Pierre into the hall with Jefferson, binding her as well, then hiding them with charms. Following his lead, Hermione countered her Disillusionment and stalked through the door after him.

Wands out on the offensive, they swept the suite quickly, quietly, assiduously, and efficiently. The first room was a spacious foyer in white marble. From there, the rooms branched off of an open concept living/dining space.

As the main areas were empty, Hermione and Draco cleared them promptly. Taking point, Draco indicated that he would take the rooms to the right while Hermione should cover the rooms to the left. Nodding her understanding, she swung through the double doors pointedly.

The short hall forked in two directions. The first was a vacant media room with overstuffed settees and a seventy-two inch flatscreen television. Backtracking to the other offshoot of the hall, Hermione descended upon a locked door.

A simple  _ Alohomora _ didn’t do the trick, so she spent a few precious moments working out the counterspell. As soon as she did, however, she stormed the bedroom.

Quiet shrieks and gasps met her ears, and the dozen or so terrified women and men huddled together, clutching onto each other’s arms and cringing away from her.

“Shh!” Hermione hushed them, and motioned for them to get down so she could inspect the room. When she was satisfied, she spoke to the captives. “We’ve come to take you all home, but my partner and I are still securing the suite. I need you to stay here until it’s safe.” She pointed to a brave looking man near the front. “Watch the door while I check these rooms.”

Waiting until the man inched closer to the door, Hermione moved through a spacious bathroom, checking the water closet and frosted glass shower, and the barren clothes closet. Before leaving the group, she briefly checked with each individual, asking for names and how he or she got there to verify that none of them was one of Flint’s lackeys hiding in plain sight. No one seemed out of place, and there wasn’t any one that was ostracized by the others.

“Remember, stay here. My partner and I have portkeys back to London that we’ll use to get everyone home, but we have to make sure the suite is secure and all the perpetrators are apprehended first. We will be back soon,” she promised before racing back to the entry rooms.

The other side of the suite was larger.

Hermione systematically cleared a massage parlor, a workout room with a stationary bike and a treadmill, and a bedroom before finding evidence of another person.

Flint was out cold and restrained in the centre of the largest bedroom, evidence of an upturned breakfast scattered atop the opulent desk running across one wall.

Retreating back to the main rooms for the second time, Hermione emerged just as Draco descended a flight of stairs.

“Clear,” they both announced at the same time.

Crossly, Draco asked, “What took you so long?”

“I found the captives. There’s thirteen of them, and I needed to vet them to assure that none of them were a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

Nodding in approval, Draco motioned for her to lead the way. As she took him down the hall to the bedroom, she explained, “They’re frightened, and I didn’t have a lot of time to talk to them, I think they’re just ready to be safe and home. I’ll message Harry with our status if you get their portkeys set up.”

They approached the guarded door and heard an audible sigh of relief from the room. Hermione introduced Draco then left him to explain the proceeding process to the victims while she sent a Patronus halfway across the globe. Within five minutes, she received a reply letting her know that the Auror department was ready for the influx of freed prisoners.

Stepping back into the room, she gave Draco the “All Clear” and helped him organize the group into a set of six and a set of seven to take two separate portkeys to the Ministry. The men and women were overwhelmed, bursting into tears at random, clinging to their saviours, and babbling excessively instead of listening to instructions. It was chaotic yet rewarding to get them all safely back to London.

After that was done, Hermione and Draco gathered Flint and Pierre and shipped them off to the Aurors. Following protocol for the Muggle, they wiped his memory and imprinted a subliminal urge to turn himself in for any human trafficking related work he had previously been part of.

When they were finally alone and all the adrenaline had ebbed from their veins, they stood staring at each other in the empty suite.

“Paperwork is going to be a bitch.” Draco broke the silence. 

Hermione laughed. Once she started, however, she couldn’t stop, breaking down into gasping guffaws that led into wheezing sobs.

Draco rushed to her side, gathering her up into his arms and humming to her soothingly.

“Sorry,” she rasped, wiping tears with the back of her hands. “It’s only… He’s been doing this for  _ three years _ . I have so many innocent people to track down to save. I have  _ ages _ of paperwork ahead of me.”

“If anyone can do it, you can,” he assured her. “For now, there’s a rather lovely Jacuzzi on the upstairs balcony that’s calling your name.”

“I didn’t bring a swimming costume.”

“Who said anything about a swimming costume?” He smirked, trailing his eyes down her body, clearly undressing her in his mind.

Untangling herself from his arms, Hermione chuckled, this time more calmly.

“Race you!” And she was off, peeling her clothes off and leaving them behind as she bolted up the steps, Draco at her heels.

An hour or so, and a total of three orgasms between the two of them, later, they reposed in the giant hot tub on the rooftop balcony, enjoying the view and each other.

"So did I do alright as your partner after all?" Hermione asked, thinking back to all the preparation and anxiety leading up to the assignment.

"I reckon you did decently enough, for not being a proper field agent."

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm a comment and kudos whore, so please consider dropping me one, the other, or both! Eternal love and gratitude if you do!  
> Constructive criticism is both welcome and wanted, especially as I have not Brit-picked nor beta'd this story. Thank you, and I hope you enjoyed!


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